


We have the time

by stillusesapencil



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Snow, This is so soft, Touch-Starved Din, maybe kinda angsty kinda, s2 spoilers, the helmet comes off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillusesapencil/pseuds/stillusesapencil
Summary: “You couldn’t have picked a warmer planet to lie low on, could you?”He gives a single head shake. “No.”
Relationships: Din Djarin & Cara Dune, Din Djarin/Cara Dune
Comments: 30
Kudos: 129





	We have the time

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in thirty minutes what is life why can't i do that all the time
> 
> I love these idiots

The snow falls continuously, big flakes floating down in a steady, soothing rhythm. Din watches, listening to the light patter. The sound of snow is not one most people pay attention to, but when someone listens it has a lot to say.

Kind of like Din himself.

He looks over the snowy landscape, the snow heaping on trees in the distance, white snow falling from a grey sky. It crunches under his boots. How odd, to be able to stand and appreciate a landscape. To have the luxury of simply taking one’s time to look.

Cara crunches up behind him, arms crossed. She says nothing for a moment, seeming to try and gather what he’s feeling. “What’cha doing out here?”

“I wish the kid— _Grogu_ —could have seen this.”

Cara hums, looking around at the white landscape. “It’s pretty.”

He tips his head down toward her. “Yeah.”

“You couldn’t have picked a warmer planet to lie low on, could you?”

He gives a single head shake. “No.” After receiving the bounty for Moff Gideon, he’d bought a new ship, but before he could return to taking jobs, he’d need to stay hidden for long enough that Empire fragments would forget who took down a major general. Krownest was the perfect spot. It used to be a Mandalorian planet, but that was before. Now it was mostly snow.

“You know, we might as well make the best of it,” Cara says.

He turns, looking at where she’s scooping snow up with her hands.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Ever built a snowbeing?”

Turns out, building snowbeings is fun. They build several rotund figures, as well as Tookacats, Banthas, and one failed attempt at a Mandalorian snowbeing. The armor was just too difficult.

Cara laughs, letting herself drop to the ground. The snow has to be seeping into her pants, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “I knew you had fun in there somewhere.”

Din smiles. “I can be quite fun. Fleeing from bounty hunters, Empire, and all other lifeforms really puts a damper on it.”

She squints at him. “Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke?”

“No, I would never.”

She squints a moment longer, then a slow grin spreads on her face. She pats the ground beside her. He sits, thankful for his waterproof underarmor, as the snow presses cold to his legs. They survey their snowbeings in silence for a moment.

“I miss him, too,” Cara finally says.

The words hang between them, crystalizing.

Finally, he says, “Yeah.”

Her eyes flick from his helmet and to his hands and back, questioning. She reaches across the snow and wraps her fingers around his.

“Kriff, woman, your hands are freezing!” He hauls her to her feet. “Back to the ship, now!”

They hurry back, Cara protesting the whole way, but she’s only joking. In the kitchen, Din heats up water and searches for those dried flavoring packets he’s got stored somewhere. They come with a rations pack, meant to be mixed with water and drunk hot or cold.

Triumphant when he finds them, he makes drinks for each of them. Cara cups her hands around her mug, the steam wafting to her face. She glances at his drink.

“I can leave?” she tips her head toward the door.

“No—it’s…” he takes a deep breath. “It’s alright.”

He’d given up everything for the kid. His ship, his creed, his way. His ability to ever return to his mother tribe. He should have forfeited all rights to the helmet, but he couldn’t bring himself to let it go. And then there were people like Bo-Katan to consider, and their insistence he was raised in a cult. But the revealing of his face still _means something._ After everything. Even now.

He clicks the helmet free and lifts it off with both hands, slowly. He sets it on the counter, picks up his drink and takes a long, warming sip. Once he sets the cup down, only then does he look at Cara.

She’s staring into the depths of her mug, studiously not looking at him.

“Cara.”

“Yes?”

“Cara, you can look at me.”

“I don’t want to—disrespect you. Your Way.”

“ _Cara._ Please look at me.” His voice cracks without the helmet speaker to modulate it.

She shuts her eyes. Lifting her head to him, she waits a moment, and opens her eyes. She scans his face, from the roots of his hair to the stubble on his chin. He knows she’d seen before, but not like this. Not extended, intentional, intimate.

Self-conscious, almost shy, he asks, “Is it what you expected?”

She tilts her head, considering. “I don’t know if I expected anything at all.” Her voice is husky as she adds, “But it’s a very nice face.”

He reaches for her, aborts the motion, strips off his gloves and lays them on the counter. She watches him, watches his hands as he reaches for her again. This time, when she slides her hand into his, it’s warm. He tugs, pulling her toward him. She steps closer, and leans on his chest. The touch sears through him, despite his layer of armor. When was the last time he was held? Unsure if this is allowed, if it’s normal, he bends his face down, nosing at the dark fluff of her hair. When she doesn’t tell him to stop, he presses his lips to the crown of her head. Nuzzling gently, he mumbles, “You smell really good.”

“That’s nice. I need a ‘fresher.”

“I mean it though. I like it. The helmet gets a little rank sometimes.”

“I can imagine.” She slides back to look up at him. Feather-light, she runs fingers against his face. “Yeah,” she whispers, “Definitely a nice face.” Her fingertips brush at the stubble on his cheeks, trace down his jawline.

It’s so much, her closeness, his lack of helmet, her fingers against his bare face. He trembles.

“Okay?”

“Forgive me.” He steps back, unthreading himself.

She lets him slide away, gentle understanding on her face. “Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

He nods, swallows. Until duty calls again, she’s not going anywhere. Unless Grogu calls him home, he’s not going anywhere either. And if danger comes knocking, she’ll be by his side. They have the time.


End file.
